"March of the Dead"

      Greetings to all my fellow Writers:

          It's been nearly a week since Halloween blew through town on the straws of a witches broom but the memories linger on.  This time of year with its fluctuating temperatures and changing of the guard from summer to fall always inspires me to put pen to paper (and fingers to keyboards) in order to create new works of fiction, and maybe a bit of non-fiction as well.  This year is no different from years past though the urge to compose a story related to "Halloween" burned inside my soul to the point of exorcism.  It didn't take much arm twisting to purge it from "Creature's Castle" and into the light as a writing group I belong to was sharing Halloween stories.
          Going through the backlog of stories compiled inside my mind's library, I came across a story that I'd thought about Writing for at least the last five years.  It is a story related to the season so I finally made the decision to make the story happen.  I put it together over a couple of evenings and posted it in first draft form for the members of the group to see.  Now I'm going to put it here as well.  Remember it is a first draft with no corrections.  A sully edited version will probably appear in a short story anthology I'm working on.  So now I'll shut up so you can enjoy:
                              
                                          THE MARCH OF THE DEAD


                                                                                                  

   Toby Wentworth looked at his watch.  It was 5:10 P.M.  Looking around him he could see that everyone had arrived and the seats at the extended table were full.  Well, almost all of them.  There was one seat that still remained empty; the seat assigned to his wife, Lynn.  Looking around he could see his chidren, Toby junior and  daughter Theresa (ages 5 and 7 respectively), his brother Burt, his mother and father, and his aunt Clara. The others were engaged in small talk while Toby just drank in the scene.
   His thoughts were broken when Lynn entered the room carrying a large serving pan upon which a beautifully carved turkey sat.  Setting down the golden hued bird she retreated back into the kitchen for more goodies.  All of those present just stared at the evening's main course reveling in the exquisite aroma being given off by the cooked bird.  This was certainly going to be a meal to remember, for this family anyway.
   After another couple trips everything meant for the meal had arrived and Lynn took her place at her husband's side.  That was the signal for everyone to dig into the potatoes, green beans cranberry sauce, and of course, roast turkey.  There was also enough dinner roles and stuffing to make sure that everyone's plate could be filled several times over. The dinner was perfect; a veritable smorgasbord of color smells.  Toby made a mental note that everybody seemed to be enjoying the night's fare on this, the night of All Hallow's Eve, the night of the harvest.  Satisfied, he proceeded to fill his plate full of the wonderful offerings prepared by his lovely wife, Lynn.
   After nearly an hour of eating, talking, and laughing, Toby got up and excused himself from the table.
   "Oh, what a wonderful dinner.  You all just keep eating.  I'm going to prepare for the night's activities.  Wouldn't want to be late you know."
   There was some nervous laughing from the table but in general the mood had suddenly sobered quite a bit.  All eyes were on Toby senior as he made his way around the table hugging and kissing everyone.  When he got to his father, Carl, the elder Wentworth got up and gave his son a huge bear hug, whispering into his ear.
   "Son, you take care now and make your family proud.  We're all with you, in spirit."
   "I know Dad," Toby said as he hugged his father tightly,"it's what makes this all worthwhile.  Thanks."
   "Godspeed, my boy" Carl said, then added, "Light the way!"
   They released and Toby made his way to the front door followed by his wife of ten years, Lynn.
   "Well Honey," Toby said with a weak smile but strong voice,"It's time to get to work.  The town is depending on me you know."
   Lynn hugged her husband tightly.
   "I know, but call me selfish, I wish somebody else had been chosen."
   "C'mon Honey," Toby said,"We've been through all this.  It's a great honor to do this for our community.  It's just the luck of the draw.  You know how it is in a town like Draaksberg, everyone contributes."
   She sighed, hugging him even tighter.
   "I know," She said, "I really am proud of you."
   The two kissed and then, reluctantly, released.  Toby saw a tear forming in the corner of Lynn's left eye.  He wiped it away and smiled.
   "Make sure the kids are in bed early and remember, no lights tonight."
   She smiled weakly.  "I will."
   Toby turned, opened the door, and left the house.  He waited until he heard the click of the lock before moving on.
   Making his way one block over Toby emerged onto Drakksberg's main street.  Everything looked to be in order from the top of the hill all the way to the bluff.  It appeared that every business had a large, carved pumpkin set on the sidewalk beside the door.  Quickly he made his way the block-and-a-half down to the bluff.  The sun was still visible but would soon be passing down behind the top of the hill, the edge of town.  The town looked like a well kept ghost town devoid of life.  The reality was that everyone in the small community made sure they were home early and locked safe in their homes.
   Looking out over the bluff, where the main street terminated, Toby marveled at the sounds of the sea as it6's waters crashed into the bluff's walls, some forty feet below where he stood.  It seemed, to Toby anyway, that Drakksberg was truly"the town at the edge of the world."
   After taking in the sight of the crashing waves and the salty smells produced of the tempestuous sea below, Toby turned his attention to the job at hand.  walking over to the large wheeled grill set at the end of the road Toby picked up a small propane lighter sitting on the serving platform built into the heavy steel grill and used it to light the oil soaked wooden torches laid inside with their handles protruding from the edge.  The flame took hold quickly and Toby had to jump back to keep from getting burned.
   "Whoa," he said, "a guy could catch fire doing that."
   He then laughed at what he'd said, the best laugh he'd had all week.  Taking one of the torches from the open grill he moved from pumpkin to pumpkin, lighting each jack-o-lantern with the propane lighter as he made his way up the hill to the other end of town.
   By the time he reached the crest of the hill the sun was disappearing from sight, giving way to the advancing darkness of the night sky.  Toby stood and watched as the sun disappeared from sight behind the town's graveyard highlighting an eerie silhouette of gravestones and old dead and gnarled tree limbs.  It was a sight that made Toby's skin crawl with gooseflesh.
   Mere seconds after the inky blackness of the night sky took hold sounds could be heard from the darkness beyond the edge of the town.  It was mild at first but then becoming more prevalent.  It was the sound...of digging and scratching.  Toby gulped as he stood his ground.  The sound played heavily upon his keen senses, causing him to shiver even though the temperature was mild.
   Soon a new sound was added to that of the digging.  It was that s raspy breathing and gurgling, a horrible nightmarish sound indee.  Peering into the darkness, Toby tried to make out the source of the sound.  I the distance the mild rumbling of an approaching storm did little to ease the nightmarish rasping and gurgling which were getting both louder, and closer.
  Suddenly, lightning spread its eerie fingers across the clouds of the approaching storm revealing several figures moving towards the town...and Toby!
   He gasped as he realized his worst fear, the "March of the dead had begun.  He had to act fast to prevent them from straying once they reached the town.  As the lightning strikes became more frequent Toby could see there had to be thirty or forty of the lumbering, rasping figures advancing on the town of Draaksberg.
   Instinctively, Toby waved his torch in the air above his head to attract the approaching dead.  He slowly backed down the hill, making his way down the other side of the road lighting the jack-o-lanterns one after another as he'd done across the street on his way up the hill.  Looking up toward the top of the hill he could see the first figures as they moved into view.  Toby choked back the queasy feeling that was building inside him, a combination of what he was seeing and what he was eventually to do.
   Making his way back down the street and toward the bluff Toby couldn't help but notice the strange dancing shadows produce by the flickering candlelight emanating the grinning faces of the jack-o-lanterns lining the town's main drag.  Looking up the hill behind him he finally understood what it was he was doing, lighting the way for the town's recently deceased to follow.  Those poor souls who died over the course of the last year were being led home, just as in years gone by.  It was important to keep them together, and focused, preventing them from aimlessly wandering the streets in search of "the light," killing and dismembering all in the wake of their confusion.
   After lighting the last Grinning jack-o-lantern Toby stepped over to the burning contents of the grill, dropping the lighter and grabbing another torch from the blazing pyre.  Waving them in the air wildly, he shouted to the crowd of approaching dead, their rotting flesh highlighted by flickering candlelight.  They were all gathered close, seemingly confused, though focused on the light before them.  They were only about thirty feet away from Toby and advancing straight for him.
   Toby smailed inwardly.  He had done his job well.  The "March of the dead" was his to command.  Like a drum major he would proudly lead them to their greater reward.
   There was but one thing left to do. With a great burst of strength Toby pulled back the blazing metal grill, allowing it to plunge over the bluff and disappearing from sight.  The dead seemed confused by the dimmed light but continued advancing toward the torchlight, and Toby!  They were only about twenty feet away when Toby knew it was time to act, before the advancing horde of undead souls began wandering the town.
   In true heroic fashion, Toby turned the torches on himself.  His clothes quickly caught fire as the leading group of dead reached him.  Toby began screaming as his entire body became engulfed in flame, his flesh burning and curling up like cooked bacon.  Grabbing a couple of the lumbering dead he backed up and over the bluff, falling out of sight to the waiting sea below.  Not wanting to lose the light, the gathering of animated corpses followed suit plunging from sight and never to return.  Toby had done his job well and now the community of Drakksberg was safe for another year, safe until the next "March of the Dead!"

   Well, I hope you all enjoyed my little tale of Halloween Terror.  Until next year...Pleasant Screams!!!
   John (aka, the "Creature")
     

"Life Creating Art"

       Hello Fellow Writers:
   One question that often comes up among beginning writers is; "Where do you get your ideas from?"
   Well, I think every writer can probably give you a different answer to that question.  I think that leaves many new writers scratching their heads trying to figure out the labyrinth of answers they receive.  The reality is that there really is no definitive answer.  I guess the most accurate explanation is that story ideas come from life.
   Okay, now let me explain.  Though I can't answer for other writers, since I obviously can't get inside their heads, I can only answer for myself.
   First and foremost I get my ideas from the labyrinth inside my head.  Unfortunately I come up with more ideas than I would ever be able to write about.  Some of these snippets are notated while others just lose themselves in the folds of my mind again.  Generally these ideas are of characters and their backgrounds and what types of stories I'd like to place them in.  Sometimes a whole story will reveal itself but usually it's just the characters.
   As to the stories themselves I just look to life and the things that I see or hear about.  I regularly engage in a variety of activities so there is no shortage of ideas to which I am exposed.  My hobbies alone supply tons of story fodder.  Here are a few examples.
  1.) A couple years ago there was a plethora of tiny moths that invaded the area of our front porch to gather under the glow of the porch light.  For days they gathered to a point where I began noticing how their numbers had perpetuated night-after-night.  Then, after a couple days I noticed they began dropping off the house as they died.  Within a few days they were all dead.  That got me thinking about a story where a planet depends on these little moths to pollinate their crops.  Some force is attracting the moths away from the plants and killing them, thus threatening to destroy the following years crop.  I had come up with a couple characters a couple years prior and, looking back on my notes, figured they would be perfect for the story.
2.)  During a hurricane (well the outer bands of one anyway) I was stuck in a parking lot as the rain pelted my car.  Through the window I noticed the arcing of a nearby telephone pole where the wire's come together with a metal connector.  I watched as the blue light produced danced around the metal connector every time the wind picked up.  Then I shut off the car and subsequently the windshield wipers as well.  Watching the dancing blue light with a constant flood of water streaming down the windshield gave a completely new perspective of the phenomenon.  They now looked like aliens gliding along our power lines, using them for both transport and cover.  Thus, another story born.
3.)  A couple years ago we were scouting an area for a place to film.  It was an area where a friend of mine hunted snakes on occasion.  Well, no snakes were found, but there were several skeletons (well, 3-4 anyway) scattered around the small field.  There had been a drought and it looked like fishing birds had fed heavily from the pond at the center of the field as the water level dropped.  There was still some water in the pond.  Scattered around the area were some exposed, smooth worn coral rocks that had the appearance of space rock.  The gears were grinding and a story concerning a remote landing of a creature from space began to take shape.
4.)  Just the other day, while driving through the neighborhood, I came across a herd (for lack of a better word) of White Ibis wandering the yards in search of small land snails which make up part of their diet.  I've seen them before but this time I looked at them with a different set of eyes.  They now reminded me of  a herd (now you know why I thought of that word instead of flock) of feathered dinosaurs tracking down their quarry, possibly a group of time travellers trapped in a prehistoric world.
   Well those are just four examples of how the things around me have influenced ideas for stories.  So the next time you're in need of an idea just get up from the computer and go outside.  Allow life to show you the path to many story ideas.
   Have a wonderful Day of Writing!!!
   The "Creature"

"When Stories Frighten!!!"

Hello:
Okay, well, here's a new one for the books: "When stories frighten!!!" Bad sentence, probably, but it's something that I've rarely, if ever, heard talked about. You're moving along like gangbusters on your new novel, excited at the pace you're building, when suddenly, you turn a corner...and come face to face with the fiend you're writing about. Do you freeze in horror when looking into the face of doom for many of your characters? Or...do you just plow through and continue writing about the fate of your characters. My guess is most writers (maybe even 98-99 percent of writers) just plow through and continue on. Well, recently I did the opposite. I froze, stared into that face of hell I created, and wanted to crawl under the covers where I knew I'd be safe (hey, Bill Cosby said hiding under the covers was the safest place back in the late sixties, early seventies). I had been stopped in my writing tracks by one of my own...Zombies!
Here's how it happened. I was writing about a transfer of zombies when one of them lashes out at a soldier. The following is an excerpt from the novel I am working on: "The Phoenix Project."


Coming out of the truck the soldiers high-fived each other, over-confident with ability. They were met with yet another of the living dead, the last to be transferred, three catch poles noosed around its neck. Taking the poles from the other soldiers they herded the flailing zombie toward the truck. Its gaze caught that of David Stevens, and for a few scant seconds, the two eyed each other. It snarled at the soldier and kept eye contact, staring deeper into Dave’s eyes, into the very depths of his soul. Dave found himself being creeped out by the stare the zombie was giving him. Those eyes, yellowish-grey with clouded pupils, burned into his memory.
Moving him into the truck the zombie seemed to calm down momentarily. Virgil and James noticed the stare the zombie was giving Dave.
“Hey, Dave,” Virgil said, “I think he likes you.”
Both Virgil and James began laughing at Dave’s predicament. Not thinking, they began loosening the catch pole nooses before Dave had even attached his chain to the hook line. In a split second the zombie tore it’s gaze from Dave and lurched forward staring directly into Virgil’s eyes. The shocked soldier stared into the zombie’s lifeless, dead eyes just a couple seconds too long. Having his hands still on the pole the movement of the zombie caught him off balance causing him to fall backwards onto one of the other zombies across from the one they were securing. The zombie wrapped it’s withered and pock-marked arms around a panicking Virgil. It opened its mouth and Virgil could smell the thing’s fetid breath as it grabbed onto his shoulder, biting down with incredible force. Virgil could actually hear the teeth tearing through cloth, flesh and muscle alike. It pulled its head back ripping a huge chunk of flesh and muscle from his neck. Blood spurt everywhere as major arteries and veins were severed in the process.


Well, after writing that scene (at around 3 A.M.) and having been writing for over an hour at that point, I kind of creeped myself out. I could feel a bit of goose flesh beginning to emerge on my arms and a tingler trying to claw it's way up my spine. I was feeling rather uncomfortable so I saved everything, shut down the computer, and watched some television. By 3:30 A. M. I was asleep, no more to be frightened that night by the things that oozed from out of the depths of my imagination.
I'm not sure how many writers have felt the same way while writing their stories, poems, books, whatever, but on that stormy night I was affected by that which I created.
Now, two weeks later, it's back to the book and lots more zombie mayhem. Bon' Appetite'!!!
Have a Wonderful day in writing!!!
The "Creature"